


born not of blood, nor will of flesh or man

by neomeruru



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Body Horror, Canonical Character Death, Daemonic Transformation, Established Relationship, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 09:41:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14850359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neomeruru/pseuds/neomeruru
Summary: By the time Ignis comes looking for him, it's already too late.Ardyn captures Gladio and infects him with Starscourge, turning him into a daemon and leaving him for the others to find.





	born not of blood, nor will of flesh or man

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags, as scant as they may be; this is gonna hurt everyone involved, as is my custom. I'll update the tags as necessary for future chapters.
> 
> Tagged past noncon for possible readings of Ardyn's (purposefully ambiguous) actions directly prior to the fic; certain phrases or memories may be triggering.

By the time Ignis comes looking for him, it's already too late.

He tries calling for him, but his throat closes around the second syllable and burns from the inside out. He can still feel the impression of Ardyn's tongue in his mouth, both far too long and much too flexible. The taste clings, creeping up into his sinuses and down into his lungs like the infection it is.

Ignis finds him like that: choking on his own breath, curled on his side at the bottom of a gully. He's half-submerged in a pool of stagnant water, his own blood, and something far more foul.

 _I do love it when they fight me. And you_ are _a fighter, aren't you?_

"Gladio? _Gladio!_ "

Ignis slides the last few feet down the slope of the gully on his knees, smearing mud all up one side of himself. His hands are cold on Gladio's face. "Six have mercy," he breathes as he looks into Gladio's eyes, "answer me, Gladiolus, say something, please—"

He can't speak. Every part of him is on fire; there's nothing remaining the Accursed hasn't touched. He can feel it, inside, burning its way through him like the fires of Ifrit himself.

He knows a fatal wound.

It's not fatal. It's much, much worse.

"Noctis—" he manages, more through clenched teeth than anything else. "Take… Noctis… run—"

With a grim set to his jaw, Ignis apparates an elixir from the armiger and raises it over his head. Gladio can feel the alchemic push of it, repelling him into the mire. He can hardly form a word of warning before Ignis shatters the vial over him and then he's screaming, every nerve igniting in a cataclysm of agony. 

As if from a great distance he knows Ignis is yelling, backing up the slick side of the gully as Gladio thrashes. He can feel it; he can feel the sickness take hold, his body changing in its grasp. The pain is indescribable, inescapable.

_Oh. You will be a thing of beauty, won't you._

Gladio turns and retches, bringing up a black ichor that drips in long sticky strings from his lips. He swears he can feel the very Light in him flee the scourge that rises, blurring his vision, sending every muscle in his body into dark paroxysms as his bones break and reform. Two bright spots of agony form above his shoulderblades; the skin splits and he can feel hot gouts of ichorous blood stream down his ribs. He prays for release by Etro's sweet merciful hand, burning with shame for it.

"Go," he chokes out, trying not to swallow, trying not to _breathe_. His arms, submerged to the wrist in bloody muck, are the deep black of a winter sky. He's larger than his clothes, now; the seams split around his body like the flesh of an overripe peach. "Iggy— go—"

"I'll do no such thing," Ignis grits out as he's suddenly at Gladio's side, slinging one of Gladio's arms over his shoulder and heaving them both out of the muck. Gladio's stomach roils and he spits, more black ichor and a mouthful of teeth. "Come on, one foot in front of the other."

It's less coordinated than that, Ignis near dragging him up the slope as Gladio's blood seethes and boils inside him. By the time they reach the top they're both coated in decaying leaves and the black horror that seeps uncontrollably from Gladio's eyes and mouth, and from the intimate wounds sustained at the Accursed's hands. Ignis drops him where there's no danger of sliding back down and falls to his hands and knees, gasping with exertion.

Gladio rolls on his back, moaning as new bony protrusions dig into his spine. "Iggy, please," he begs, "Please, you gotta go, I'm gonna—"

" _You_ are going to _resist_ ," Ignis cuts him off, fixing him with a glare. "You're his _Shield_ , Gladiolus." He pushes himself up to his knees and extends a hand to Gladio. "Now, get up. You're not relieved of service yet."

_No matter. You'll give me everything I want, in good time._

—

Prompto is waiting for them when the haven comes into view, shielding his eyes from the setting sun behind them. He raises the alarm when he sees Ignis practically carrying Gladio, summoning Noctis from the tent even as he scrambles down the rock face. Gladio can see the bright flash of Prompto summoning from the armiger as he approaches.

With a grunt, Ignis drops Gladio onto his knees about a hundred paces from the haven. "Don't," he starts, waving away Prompto. "He reacts poorly to curatives."

Gladio digs his fingers into the soft loam and hangs his head, racked with another wave of pain and nausea. More footsteps clatter down towards them.

"What the fuck happened?! _Gladio!_ " Noctis's voice breaks on his name, thready with panic. Gladio can feel hands on his shoulders briefly before Ignis steps forward and pushes Noctis away.

"Ardyn," Gladio grits out. Even saying the name, he can feel the tug that connects him to the Accursed like a leash.

_Yes, that's it. Good man._

Ignis can't stop Noctis from dropping to his knees before Gladio, leaning down to look up into his face. Gladio turns away. He knows. He knows what he looks like. He can feel it, the taint — hotter and stickier than tears — dripping from his eyes to splatter on the ground beneath him. 

"It's the Scourge," Ignis says, and Noctis bites back a sound of grief.

This is it, then. Fuck, he didn't think he'd go out this way. He always knew he'd go before Noctis, but not like this: not this undeath, not unarmed and on his hands and knees. He can feel his fingers bite into the ground, elongating into bony points that dig up clots of earth when another spasm seizes him and sends him to one elbow.

He hears Ignis's cry of alarm as he's pulled into Noctis's lap, strong hands guiding his head to rest. Cool fingers card through his hair, skimming the ridges that plate his forehead. "Stay with me," Noctis pleads quietly, and it wracks Gladio with guilt to hear his prince resort to begging. Astrals, he would. If he only could.

"I'm so sorry, Noct—" he says, before seizing again in Noctis's arms.

"Don't, don't, please," Noctis pleads.

He can't keep still. Even aside from the trembling he can't stop, his body continues to change with him trapped inside. The protrusions on his back grow longer, bones cracking, skin stretching; he rocks to one side just as appendages erupt from the weeping sores in a flurry of black feathers and excruciating pain. Ichor gushes to the ground like a lanced boil.

"Ah— shitting— fuck," he swears as his body jerks in the grip of the Scourge, sodden wings — _wings_ — flapping around gracelessly behind him. Noctis's grip on him tightens as he pulls Gladio closer, holding him to his chest.

"Don't you go," Noctis orders, and Gladio moans helplessly. He can't. Six, it hurts so much. Again, he prays for Etro to have mercy and take him before he loses himself entirely; he must do it out loud because Noctis shakes him violently for it. " _Don't go_ ," he repeats.

"Noctis," Ignis warns, and Gladio feels it before he can see it. The sun dips below the horizon and he feels pulled to the ground with it, stretched thin, his consciousness fading out and snapping back in waves. He must be growling; his teeth are too sharp in his clenched jaw. "Noctis, night is falling. We must get back within the haven's light, before—"

"Not without him," Noctis says, clutching Gladio to his chest.

Gladio drops to the ground as Ignis wrenches Noctis up and away by the arm, making him cry out in pain. Gladio surges to his feet in response, stumbling as he realizes his legs are jointed differently. That's enough time for Ignis to get a head start, pulling a resisting Noctis along behind him. Prompto's slower to react, but when Gladio turns to him he takes off as well.

"Gladio!" Noctis cries, and he can feel their connection through the Crystal sizzle and jerk, pulling taut. It urges him onward, shambling awkwardly on feet that no longer fit his boots. He sees and feels bleeding portals of darkness open up in the ground all around Noctis as the earth erupts with daemons.

He has a choice. For one fleeting moment, maybe the last one he'll ever have, he has a choice and he makes it.

He launches forward with a roar, eating up the ground with his newer, longer stride. He catches up to Ignis and Noctis easily, sees the flash of the armiger illuminate Ignis's grimly determined face as he pushes Noctis beneath him, angling his lance up for the kill.

Momentum carries him past them and into the first daemon, and rage propels him after that. He grabs one by the neck and just… snaps it in his claws, slams its corpse into the next, both of them bursting into a shower of red ash. He leaps onto another, some big unidentifiable fucker with a sword, his wings unfurling behind him as he rends its throat with his teeth.

The haven's protections close around Noctis and he can feel that too, like a void opening up in him. And on the edges, he knows— he remembers—

_It won't be long. Just lie still and— yes, there you go. It's not so bad, is it? I have you now._

He roars again, black spittle flying from his fangs, startling a flock of night birds from the trees as he clutches his chest, looking for the wound that's more spiritual than physical. The throbbing ache of Noctis's magic suddenly cut off rocks him to the core. The daemon underneath him takes the opening and hits him with a mean left hook — literally, a hook — and ichor sprays from Gladio's arm.

Feeling — blessed, holy Feeling - snaps back into him and he raises his head to see Noctis slip Ignis's grasp and scramble down the sheer rock of the haven, phasing from boulder to boulder before appearing at Gladio's side with a bang of displaced air. His eyes glow purple as he raises his sword and plunges it into the daemon's chest.

The daemon howls and Noctis does it again, stabbing the daemon until the dark light in it flickers and its corporeal form dissolves, dropping both Gladio and Noctis to the ground in a pile of ash. Noctis is breathing heavily, like he can't keep from sobbing, as he releases his sword back into the armiger.

"You're mine," he gasps, even as Ignis and Prompto run to his side and drag him up and away from Gladio. "You're mine. He can't have you. You're mine!" he repeats, twisting in their arms.

Gladio doesn't even rise. The searing pain of transformation ebbs, leaving him weak and shaking. He folds his body down, tucking his head on his arms as he falls prostrate before Noctis.

_You know, some would call you a loyal dog. I see in you so much more._

"Let me go," Noctis orders. They must, because Gladio can hear him approach. More than that, he can _feel_ him approach, a blessed cold sluicing away the lingering agony of his changed form. Noctis fills him up like ice water in a glass, scouring away the feeling of Ardyn inside him. Gladio whimpers in relief when Noctis's hand comes down to rest on his head.

"Noctis..." he moans.

Noctis must feel it too, because his voice is suddenly calm and regal. "Tell me what you are."

The words make Gladio shudder. He turns his head, putting himself in Noctis's palm. "I'm still here."

Noctis's hand in his hair tightens, shakes him lightly. He makes a clicking sound with his tongue.

"I'm still yours," Gladio amends, and the words light him up inside as they leave his mouth. The intangible bond that ties him to the crown — to Noctis, to his fellow retainers, to the very lands of Lucis — flares up, and for a moment he can sense it, a blue light that emanates from Noctis and engulfs them both.

It's gone in a blink, an afterimage more remembered than seen. It's just Noctis, looking down on him with a gentle smile as the night wind ruffles his hair. "There you are," he says.

"Here I am," Gladio agrees. He feels scrubbed empty. "Ever by your side."

—

Noctis offers his hand and he takes it, pulling himself to his full height.

Prompto whistles, craning his head up... and up, and up, and up. "Well, that's an improvement, big guy. Bigger guy. Biggest?"

Gladio flexes his hands, holding them out to look down at the way his fingers taper into hard points. His fingertips are barbed, like Noct's fishing hooks. And all of it's black, all the way up his arms to where his tattoo stands out in white glowing relief. He doesn't even want to look at the rest of himself, but he feels Noctis's gaze on him like the weight of his hand. He's keenly aware that the tatters of his clothing cover very little.

"Come on," Noctis says, turning away after a few long moments. "I'm hungry."

"Ever thinking of the important matters at hand," Ignis says wryly, shooting Gladio a look over his shoulder as he turns to follow. Gladio nods, and Ignis nods back, imperceptibly. If Noctis desires to change the subject and ignore the catoblepas in the room, then they'll both follow his lead.

He can't enter the haven, as they discover.

He paces the boundary under their wary eyes, mapping out how close he can be before the runes flare and repel him. It burns — not as much as the Scourge, but still more than he could reasonably tolerate.

"It seems one of us will have to learn how to put up a tent," Ignis remarks, aggressively neutral.

Gladio scuffs his foot against the runes — not quite cloven, more like a couerl's long knobbled toes — and hisses when they repel him once more. "It's fine," he mutters. "Doubt the daemons'll want anything to do with me."

Prompto's legs swing over the edge of the haven. He clears his throat, awkwardly. "Well, we'll… uh, be right here, if you need anything. _Do_ you... need anything?"

He's hungry.

"No," he says, turning away from the glare of the runes. He has to blink away their afterimages burned into his eyes, staggering like a drunk on his new legs down the rocky outcropping. "Just do your thing. I'm going to…" He pauses. "I'll be around."

"Gladio." Noct's voice, cutting through the dark.

He turns. Noctis is watching him, arms folded. He holds Gladio's gaze for a long moment, pinning him under his scrutiny.

"Don't go far," he says, finally.

Gladio drops his head and brings his fist to his chest, listening as Noctis turns away from the lip of the haven and Ignis follows, Prompto scrabbling up from his perch. When he looks up, they're gone, and he turns to the enveloping forest.

—

He hunts. He knows how to do that, at least — he hunts, he eats, that much is familiar. It's even easier than before. The shadows cling to him, the forest swallows the sounds of his passage. He gets near enough to a deer to smell its earthy scent, to hear its relaxed breathing as it passes him completely unaware of his presence.

Deer doesn't sate him. Nor does hare, nor fish, nor a cache of eggs he finds in the reeds by the river and sucks straight from the shell. His hunger sharpens into a knife even as blood sluices down his throat, quenching nothing.

It's not until he stumbles into a pack of imps and is halfway through the ensuring carnage that he thinks: _oh._

When he slinks back to the haven, metaphysically whole again after laying waste to the horrors of the forest, the sky is just barely lightening in the east. A lone figure sits silhouetted by the blue beacon glow of the haven fire, legs swinging over the edge as it gazes out towards the treeline.

"You were gone all night," Noctis calls down, pitching his voice low to avoid waking the others. A can of energy drink dangles from his fingers by the pull tab.

Gladio comes as far as he dares and takes a knee. "I'm sorry."

Noctis drinks the dregs of the can, then puts it down beside him on the rocks. "Did you do antthimg out there you need to be sorry for?" he asks, tipping his chin thoughtfully at Gladio.

"For giving you cause to worry," he replies, bowing his head. Noctis slides off the ledge, dropping down beside Gladio. "But not… for anything else."

Even kneeling, Noctis still has to reach up a little to put his hand on Gladio's chest, over his silent heart. "I know," he says, quietly. "I can… tell. I think you're part of me, now."

Gladio brings his hands up to cover Noctis's, pressing it more firmly to his chest. His blunt nails barely make a dent. "Then I'm sorry for that."

"It's fine," Noctis says, stepping into Gladio's space. When he looks up at him, he's all Gladio can see.

Noctis watches him for a long time, searching his face. Gladio wants to flinch away — he's seen himself in the water's reflection, he knows… he knows he's changed. But Noctis's gaze remains carefully neutral, assessing him without judgement or fear.

"What did he do?" Noctis asks, finally.

Gladio shakes his head, leaning into Noctis's other hand when it comes up to cup his jaw. "It doesn't matter," he says. "Fucker didn't take me away from you, and that's all that matters."

"But he..."

"Noct," he interrupts. "Leave it alone, alright? You undid what you could. The rest, it's fine. I'll deal with it."

He can sense the sun start to spill over the tops of the trees, lighting the sky in pink and orange. It prickles along his skin, like the air before a storm.

Noctis looks behind him at the encroaching sunrise, then back at Gladio. "What's going to happen?"

Gladio shakes his head. "I don't know—" he starts, before he drops a few inches with a jolt. Noctis takes a step backward as they both look down, where a black miasma concaves the earth around Gladio and his body begins to lose its form.

"Gladio…" Noctis says, moving both hands to cup his face.

He can feel himself become liquid, seeping into the ground. He's of a height with Noctis, then lower. Smoke curls from his shoulders.

"I'll find you," he vows, covering Noct's hands with his own. "This isn't the end, alright? No force in all of fuckin' Eos is gonna keep me from you. I'll find you."

"You'd better," Noctis says, a little smile flickering across his face even as his eyes water. He leans in and presses his lips to Gladio's, clutching him as he falls to his knees and Gladio sinks further, the miasma sucking him in.

The last thing Gladio sees as the darkness closes over his head is Noctis, outlined in brilliant gold sunrise.

**Author's Note:**

> I write! I draw! I make julienne fries! Your comments literally sustain me! Join me [on Tumblr](http://chaoslindsay.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/neomeruru) for my fanart and other stuff!
> 
> This fic is remix-friendly: I give blanket permission for non-commercial translations, podfics, remixes, inspired fanfic, and fanart! Just let me know where you put it, so I can make sure others see it too!


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